<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Sullen Bastard Lord by crazychipmunk</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24973708">Sullen Bastard Lord</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazychipmunk/pseuds/crazychipmunk'>crazychipmunk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Future Fic, Storm's End (ASoIaF), gendry baratheon, lord gendry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:54:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,005</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24973708</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazychipmunk/pseuds/crazychipmunk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lord of Storm’s End was a sullen bastard. It is known. </p><p>...</p><p>Whomever Arya was, she was causing Lord Gendry far greater distress than the festering wound that was threatening his life.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arya Stark/Gendry Waters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>315</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Milk of the Poppy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Lord of Storm’s End was a sullen bastard. It is known.</p><p>When he first arrived at Storm’s End, dressed in fine clothes that fit him perfectly but did not suit him at all, the smallfolk whispered about this strange new bastard who had washed up on their shores. The Baratheon blood in him was undeniable; hair as dark as a moonless night and eyes a blue so piercing that some even suggested that he had been turned into one of the White Walkers he had battled up north. He looked so much like Robert Baratheon in his prime that every family with a pretty daughter shuddered as he rode past. A dashing war hero, spawned from a father famous for fathering bastards. Their new bastard lord would surely wreak havoc across the Stormlands and beyond.</p><p>For months after his arrival, the Stormlands held their breath, waiting to see which pretty serving wrench’s belly would swell. But there was nothing to see. Lord Gendry Baratheon did not at all have his father’s appetite nor did he have a bastard’s shamelessness. Some even speculated that perhaps he took after his uncle, Lord Renly, but no beautiful blond squires were ever seen leaving the lord’s chambers and their sullen lord had none of his uncle’s easy charm.</p><p>So instead it was hypothesized that their new lord was like his other uncle, Lord Stannis; too righteous to ever touch a woman who was not his wife. But the septons had never even see Lord Gendry step into a sept. They chastised him, begged him to come his respect to the gods. He merely grunted and walked away. The septons were scandalized, predicting that one day, in his time of need, Lord Gendry would invoke the power of the Seven and they would not be there for such a heretic.</p><p>The septons were wrong. Even when he was stabbed by a would-be assassin, blood pouring out of his belly, the life fading from his eyes, Lord Gendry did not call for the strength of the Warrior, the compassion of the Mother, or the mercy of the Stranger. He set his jaw in pain and landed a crushing blow with his war hammer on the man who had temporarily bested him. Then, as silent as ever, the Lord of Storm’s End collapsed in The Great Hall, spilling crimson blood over the dark stone.</p><p>Though the Stormlanders griped frequently about their sullen bastard lord who refused to speak, smile, or take a wife, they were worried. The nervous bastard in borrowed silks had turned out to be a fine lord. Fair and mindful of the hardships of the smallfolk, it was the first lord they had had in a long time who wasn’t blinded by women, glory, or vanity. So, as Lord Gendry, the sullen bastard Lord of Storm’s End convalesced in bed under the influence of the milk of the poppy, the smallfolk found themselves doing something they never thought they would do. The knelt and prayed to the gods to spare the life of their sullen bastard lord.</p><p>Perhaps the septons had been correct about their lord’s lack of faith. Even with all of the Storm Lands praying for his recovery, Lord Gendry did not improve. Instead, he became feverish, twitching in bed so violently that the maesters were forced to give him higher and higher doses of milk of the poppy to calm him. Though the higher doses calmed his flailing limbs, the tension in his body instead gathered on his face. His handsome features twisted as he slept, milk of the poppy turning his mind against him. After two more weeks of with no noticeable improvement, Lord Gendry began talking in his sleep.</p><p>Rumors abounded about exactly what the Lord of Storm’s End said while under the influence of the milk of the poppy. Some said he confessed to crimes, but there was no consensus of exactly what crimes he had allegedly committed. There were those who claimed that their lord merely confessed to petty crimes: stealing a loaf of bread, shortchanging a rude knight when he still worked as a smith in Flea Bottom. Others claimed that their lord admitted much more grievous crimes; killing the dragon queen himself, even orchestrating the hunting accident that had killed his father. Pubs in the Storm Lands filled with stories of Lord Gendry yelling in his sleep, voice booming and authoritative, challenging the White Walkers to test the fury of his hammer. Other said he whimpered like a frightened kitten, begging for his life as he cowered in bed from an unknown enemy.</p><p>The smallfolk argued and gossiped incessantly about their lord’s addled state, but there was one story they could all agree on. As Lord Gendry slept fitfully under the influence of the milk of the poppy, he whispered one name so often it was almost like a prayer.</p><p>Arya. Arya, Arya, Arya…</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Gendry remembered the flash of the dagger, the speed of it. Fast, but he had seen faster, he thought. The dagger he saw as well. It clattered to the ground before his eyes, fallen from the hand of the man whose head he had just bludgeoned in. A fine dagger, but he had seen finer. And as he closed his eyes and his mind went blank, he could still hear her smile as she twisted that Valyrian steel dagger around him like water flowing past rocks in a stream.</p><p>“You were too slow.”</p><p>Blue eyes snapped back open. He felt the biting cold, a chill that crept into his bones and blossomed little crystals of ice in his veins. There is no such cold in the Stormlands. He had not felt such cold in many years, but as he looked towards the voice that had spoken, he felt warmer than every balmy summer day in the Stormlands combined. He was in Winterfell and before him stood Arya Stark.</p><p>This was not the first time he had dreamt of Arya Stark. It was not the hundredth time, not even the thousandth time. She had been haunting his dreams for so long that he did not even remember what it was like to sleep without her stormy grey eyes staring back at him. But this dream was different, more real yet more dreamlike at the same time. The mist that surrounded him was so thick that he could barely see Winterfell through it, but Arya’s features were so crisp and clear that he felt he could reach out and melt the snowflakes on her lashes with the warmth of his fingers.</p><p>“A hallucination caused by milk of the poppy,” Arya replied, as if she had read his mind, “You’re dying.”</p><p>She had expected him to be surprised, to angrily retort that it would take more than an assassin’s tiny prick of a blade to kill him but instead Gendry’s expression did not change at all, “I know,” he said placidly, as if he were agreeing on a remark she made about the weather.</p><p>Arya’s grey eyes flashed with anger and surprise. “Is that all you have to say?”</p><p>“What else is there is say?” Gendry said as he slowly started walking towards Arya, the look of awe on his face replaced with one of determination as he raised a hand to catch of lock of her hair.</p><p>“Deny it. Do not die so easily.”</p><p>A ghost of a smile passed over Gendry’s lips as he twisted Arya’s brown locks around his finger, “I have been dying for years. Killed by a woman. How pathetic.” Arya snatched his hand from her hair. “Oh? You’re angry. My father was killed by a woman too. Though, he spent years trying to drink himself to death until he finally was drunk enough to have the courage to let a boar gore him to death. If it comforts you, I was stone cold sober when I let that Dornish assassin’s poison blade stick me like a pig. Do not think that you have failed me in your training m’lady.” Gendry’s blue eyes twinkled at that last sentence, proud that Arya had taught him to evade the blade of any assassin that wasn’t her. She had not accounted for the fact that he might not want to evade it at all.</p><p>“You’re right,” Arya replied, voice dripping in sarcasm, “Your death truly is pathetic.”</p><p>Gendry sighed and gently removed her hand where it was still holding onto his wrist. He turned it over in his own hands, carefully tracing the scars and calluses, “What can I say? It’s in my blood. We Baratheons are doomed to love Stark girls who are far too beautiful and too willful to ever be confined as ladies in our keeps.”</p><p>Arya was silent and Gendry feared that he had crossed a line even in his own hallucination. Finally, he felt Arya’s free hand grasp his chin and wrench his head up from where it was still bowed. Grey eyes met blue eyes are Arya held Gendry’s face dangerously close to her own. So close he could feel the tingle of her warm breath on his frostbitten face, “You are not Robert Baratheon,” she gritted through her teeth, “I am not Lyanna Stark. I am not dead. And you will live to see me again.” Arya fiercely growled the last sentence and before Gendry could process what she said, the hand on his chin was gone, snaked to the back of his neck, pulling Gendry down into a kiss so searing he was sure his chest had been engulfed in flames.</p><p>As quickly as the kiss started, it was over. The hand disappeared from the back of his neck and Gendry could feel Arya moving away from him. He blindly grabbed at Arya. If he could just catch onto her, her arm, the hem of furs. Anything. He was strong, he would be able to hold onto her, he wouldn’t let go this time. But Gendry would never be fast enough for Arya. She easily slipped out of his grasp, disappearing into the snow and mist.</p><p>“Arya!” He screamed, stumbling after her to no avail. He was a summer child caught in a winter storm, forever at her mercy. “Arya. Arya. Arya.”</p><p>Back in Storm’s End, the maester tending to the Lord Storm’s End sighed as he heard the familiar chant emerging from his lord’s lips. Whomever Arya was, she was causing Lord Gendry far greater distress than the festering wound that was threatening his life.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Not like his father</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Word of Lord Gendry Baratheon’s attempted assassination traveled across the Seven Kingdoms. Many said he deserved it; an abandoned bastard such as himself had no right to claim the seat of a father he had never met. Others speculated who would succeed the childless, wifeless lord. Would the Stormlands be plunged into chaos? But of course, none of these topics were as captivating as the woman’s name that was constantly on the dying lord’s lips.</p>
<p>Arya. Arya, Arya, Arya…</p>
<p>Despite the more recent carnage wrought by the Lannisters and the Dragon Queen, the smallfolk’s woes had not begun with them. One could pinpoint the exact moment when it all went wrong. When Rhaegar Targaryen spirited away with Lyanna Stark. Rhaegar made the mistake of taking a woman who’s betrothed loved her so deeply that he ripped Westeros to shreds in order to retrieve her. The Targaryens, the blood of Old Valyria, a dynasty that had endured for centuries, overthrown by Robert Baratheon’s fury when he was denied his beloved.</p>
<p>Only after all that bloodshed, Lyanna Stark lay dead in the crypts of Winterfell. Robert Baratheon’s rage, his rage towards his wife and the last Targaryens survivors, brought about the rise of not one but two Mad Queens. The Seven Kingdoms had paid a heavy price for Robert Baratheon’s lost Stark love. And now his son lay on his deathbed, begging for another Stark who would not love him back.</p>
<p>There was no doubt that Lord Gendry Baratheon was as doomed as his father. If Lyanna Stark could not be convinced to love Robert Baratheon, a Lord Paramount by the age of sixteen, tall, fit, and handsome; then how could Arya Stark, the Bringer of the Dawn, the most fearsome Stark since Brandon the Breaker himself, ever fall in love with a sullen bastard lord. And of course, there was the issue that Arya Stark had not been seen since she set sail to find the edge of the world many years ago. She was likely as dead as Lyanna Stark.</p>
<p>Many trembled at the thought of Robert and Lyanna’s doomed love reborn, but there were those born after the events of Robert’s Rebellion, whose only villains were scheming Lannisters and mad Targaryens. Though many disparaged Lord Gendry for being a bastard, whore’s son, plucked out of nowhere, it was undeniable that he was a Baratheon through and through. He was as handsome as his father had been before he had grown fat with grief. A maiden’s dream and an unmarried one at that. The sullen bastard lord’s love for the wild Stark girl was romanticized across the Seven Kingdoms as everyone from high lords to common beggars wove stories of how a bastard smith’s apprentice had met and fallen in love with a wild northern lady.</p>
<p>The stories were not even close. Most stories had them meeting during the Great War. Perhaps Gendry’s association with Jon Snow had somehow brought him close enough to Arya to fall in love with her. Some even correctly guessed that Arya had sought him out to build her a special weapon to fight the wrights, though many of these stories incorrectly attributed her famous Valyrian steel dagger to Gendry. No one guessed that Gendry, then nothing more than a bastard smith, had taken Lady Arya Stark’s maidenhood in a deserted Winterfell storeroom mere hours before she slayed the Night King.</p>
<p>Nor did they know that Gendry, as his first act as a Baratheon, had even bent the knee and asked Arya Stark to marry him. Unlike his father, Gendry Baratheon failed to secure a betrothal to the Lady Stark he loved. But also, unlike his father, Gendry had something much more valuable. Lyanna Stark had begrudgingly accepted Robert Baratheon’s proposal out of duty and honor. Arya Stark rejected Gendry Baratheon’s proposal with daggers in her heart for she loved him as deeply as he did her. No one knew this, not even Gendry himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Gendry had dreamt of Arya Stark thousands of times. He relived their early moments together in vivid detail. The bumpy wagon on the Kingsroad, the cold mud of Harrenhal, the jovial atmosphere of the Brotherhood. He loved those dreams the best, because he could imagine that they had never parted. They would have remained in the forest forever, free to fall in love without the cruelty of the world getting in the way. For every dream in which they lived like the lovers in a love ballad, there were many more waiting to painfully squeeze Gendry’s heart to the point where he was sure it would stop beating.</p>
<p>Arya’s screams as the Red Woman took him away. Arya slaughtered at the Red Wedding, throat slit open into a wicked smile. Arya engulfed in dragon fire. Arya with sunken blue eyes, fleshless face tearing at his throat. Arya lost a sea, rowing in cirlces, surrounded by an endless expanse of nothing. Arya’s grey eyes shining in the candlelight, a hopeful future with him at Storm’s End flashing through her eyes even as she tells him she won’t be his lady.</p>
<p>In the beginning of his convalescence, Gendry had dreamt all these dreams, wondering if death would finally put him out of his misery or if his soul would be cursed to wander the world forever longing for Arya Stark. But ever since she had commanded him to stay alive long enough to see her again, Arya had stubbornly refused to return to his dreams. So now his dreams were consumed by his search for her.</p>
<p>He rides from Storm’s End to King’s Landing, calling her name, the road familiar though he knows he’s never taken it. The banners of House Baratheon and its sworn houses flowing behind him. The entire time he calls her name.</p>
<p>Arya. Arya, Arya, Arya…</p>
<p>He meets a silver-haired prince in the middle of a mighty river. Gendry yells at him, bellows at him as if this strange man with purple eyes knows where she’s hiding. The prince does not reply. Rubies fly like droplets of blood from the prince’s chest as Gendry crushes it with his warhammer.</p>
<p>Arya. Arya, Arya, Arya…</p>
<p>The silver-haired prince had been a worthy opponent, but Gendry felt no joy as he disappeared under the water. He was still alone. Suddenly, he’s wrapping a yellow Baratheon cloak around a woman with equally yellow hair. Gendry does not know who she is, but he knows who she isn’t and even as she takes him to their marriage bed, he calls out for the one he’s searching for.</p>
<p>Arya. Arya, Arya, Arya…</p>
<p>He sits on a throne made of swords, feels the power behind his every word, but it’s not enough. Lords and ladies trip over themselves to fulfill his every command but are powerless to bring him the one thing he ever wanted. Gendry feels his body swelling up with grief and fury. He rises from the throne, slow and sluggish, the sharp swords poking into his sides that now extend far from his body. He wants to run, to look for her, but he has become so large he can barely stand. So instead he just calls her name.</p>
<p>Arya. Arya, Arya, Arya…</p>
<p>The yellow haired woman looks at him with disgust when she hears the name that is not hers, but he doesn’t care. Her green eyes flash with anger and suddenly turn black, the beady eyes of a boar charging towards him. Gendry tries to dodge, to run, but his body is too heavy with wine, his feet too clumsy. Just as the boar’s tusks are about to pierce his belly, the sun hits it and suddenly it’s a dagger, flashing in the rare sunlight streaming through the high windows of Storm’s End.</p>
<p>The bed is warm underneath him, welcoming, beckoning him to the other side. He sees the blurry outline of a woman, dark hair, long face. It’s her! He’s found her and Gendry feels himself calling out her name.</p>
<p>"Lyanna!"</p>
<p>The voice that comes out of his mouth is not his own. It’s older, rougher, dripping in years of wine-soaked neglect. The woman beckons to him and Gendry sees that her face is slightly longer than Arya’s, her eyes the wrong shade of grey. He sees his hand extending towards her. He draws it back.</p>
<p>“I am not Robert Baratheon,” Gendry says, “Arya Stark is not dead. And I will live to see her again.”</p>
<p>A small smile unfurls on Lyanna Stark’s lips, “If only the god of death could be satisfied with love instead of life.”</p>
<p>Gendry felt a chill crawl over his entire body. Lyanna Stark’s voice was cold, haunting, as if she knew some terrible secret that he didn’t. But before he could ask what she meant, Lyanna Stark turned to dust, leaving only the scent of winter roses.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It was getting late in a tavern in Oldtown. Ale flowed freely between sailors as they shared their collected the news from the around the Seven Kingdoms.</p>
<p>“The Lord of Storm’s End is done for.”</p>
<p>“Felled by a prick from a Dornish dagger, what a weak way to go.”</p>
<p>“That’s weak? How about screaming some woman’s name in his sleep like she’s going to show up and save him or something.”</p>
<p>“Not just any name. The Bringer of the Dawn herself. As if the great Arya Stark would ever fall for a sullen bastard lord like him.”</p>
<p>The sailors guffawed at that and raised their tankards for a toast, “To Lord Gendry Baratheon. He might be a bastard, but he is Robert Baratheon through and through.”</p>
<p>Before any of them could take a swig of ale however, a cloud clattering sound rumbled through the tavern. The bottoms of their tankards had been split cleanly from the cup and fell loudly onto the table before. In the middle of the table now squatted a small hooded figure. The drunk sailors screamed out of fright and scrambled to get away, but the hooded figure grabbed the sailor who had made the toast and stuck an ornate dagger under his throat. Though the dagger was barely touching his skin, the blade was sharp enough to cut through metal tankards and a thin trail of blood was already running down the sailor’s neck. He tried to twist away but the hooded figure just held him tighter and drew him closer.</p>
<p>Stormy grey eyes shone through the darkness of the hood and a cold voice rang through the tavern. “He is not Robert Baratheon. He is not like his father.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wrote a second chapter for once? Amazing. </p>
<p>At this point I'm so obsessed with Robert Lyanna parallels I might as well just write a reincarnation fic. </p>
<p>Please let me know what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Water Gardens</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Are you threatening me, Princess Arianne?”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Princess Arianne Martell did not like the Water Gardens. As a child, she had loved it here, dashing through the flowers and hanging off terraces with her friends. But now, as she listened to the tranquil sound of running water, all she could think about was her father. Gout-ridden, sitting amongst the waterworks, secretly plotting, moving her and her siblings around like chess pieces rather than his own children. The Water Gardens had none of the scorching desert heat of Sunspear, its many fountains couldn’t compare to the constant roar of the sea. No wonder her father had died as he had. He had spent too many years in the safety of the Water Gardens, protected by Areo Hotah and his thirty guards. The Water Gardens were safe, too safe.</p>
<p>So, it was to Arianne’s great surprise when she was forced to raise one of her hidden blades against an incoming dagger. The dagger was lighter than her blade despite being bigger and Arianne saw how the sunlight rippled through the metal like fire. Valyrian steel.</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t flash that around Lady Arya. Someone might recognize you.”</p>
<p>Anger flashed through Arya Stark’s cold grey eyes as she wrenched Arianne’s blade out of her hand only to be met with another blade pulled from a hidden place in Arianne’s skirts. “I’m not a sailor in Oldtown,” Arianne continued, “I know Valyrian steel when I see it.”</p>
<p>Arya parried Arianne’s blade with such force that it broke in half. “Those who know enough to recognize it do not live to tell the tale,” Arya said as she stabbed towards Arianne again. And so, the two women parried and fought, the sound of metal hitting metal cutting through the calm haze of the Water Gardens.</p>
<p>Finally, Arya had flicked Arianne’s final blade into a nearby fountain and she stood calmly before Arianne, Valyrian steel dagger pointed at her throat.</p>
<p>“To what do I owe the pleasure of hosting the great Nightslayer herself?” Arianne asked after finally catching her breath.</p>
<p>“You know why I’m here,” Arya said, eyes shining an otherworldly grey in the Dornish sun.</p>
<p>“Surely I do not. Northern ladies like you do not fare well in Dorne.” It was a low insult, Arianne knew, to bring up Arya Stark’s aunt who had so famously died atop the Tower of Joy in the Red Mountains of Dorne, but Arianne did not appreciate being attacked in her family’s private retreat no matter how skilled the assailant was.</p>
<p>“I am not Lyanna Stark.”</p>
<p>“Clearly not. Lyanna Stark came to Dorne to run away from a Baratheon and here you are saving his son,” Arianne said with a slight smile. Arya looked angry at the insinuation but did not deny it. In a stalemate, they stood out in the hot summer sun, the Princess of Dorne and the Bringer of the Dawn.</p>
<p>Finally, Arianne held her hands up in defeat, “Lady Arya, please lower your blade and have a drink with me,” Arya did not move. Arianne sighed and put her hands together in mock prayer. “I am a lady of honor and will not attack you once I have taken you in as my guest. You’ve already vowed to kill me. At least give me a chance to beg for my life.”</p>
<p>Arya narrowed her eyes in suspicion but finally lowered the Valyrian steel dagger with a small nod. Princess Arianne was a direct descendant of Queen Nymeria after all. It would be a pity to kill her without getting to know her a little.</p>
<p>They sat in one of the Water Garden’s many shady courtyards. Arianne poured out two cups of Dornish strongwine, “This is real wine, my lady, not that weak Arbor red water you drink up north.” Arianne downed her cup in one go. Arya, now convinced it wasn’t poisoned, took a sip, her face showing no sign that the wine’s strong sour flavor had affected her at all. Arianne was impressed, even the strongest Dornishmen were unable to control their reaction to the acrid taste of the Martell family’s special house red.</p>
<p>Seeing that Arya was unlikely to speak first, Arianne began the conversation by removing a small bottle from around her neck and putting it on the table in front of Arya, “The antidote. Whatever Dornish poison Lord Baratheon was stricken with, this will surely cure him.”</p>
<p>Arya took the bottle and looked at Arianne with daggers in her eyes, “You know exactly which poison was on your assassin’s blade.”</p>
<p>“I assure you Lady Stark, if I wanted Lord Baratheon dead, he would already be deep underground and not calling your name for all the Seven Kingdoms to hear.” Arya stayed silent though her eyebrow twitched at the mention of Gendry calling her name in his sleep. “As for some other houses in Dorne however, I am afraid that the sloppy tactics they employ have landed your lord in his predicament. And for that I apologize. Dorne holds no malice towards the Stormlands.”</p>
<p>“And yet Gendry still lies dying in his bed because of a poisoned Dornish dagger.”</p>
<p>Arianne stared back at Arya, shocked that she spoke of Lord Baratheon with such familiarity. Like everyone else in Westeros, Arianne Martell had never considered that Arya Stark would ever return Lord Baratheon’s feelings. Though she had just been bested by Arya in Lord Baratheon’s name, Arianne assumed Arya had been dispatched by her brother or sister for political reasons. Never did Arianne Martell think Arya Stark would draw her blade for that sullen bastard lord over her own personal feelings. But Arianne herself had a weakness for handsome men and having seen Lord Baratheon up close with her own eyes, she could understand why any woman would be willing to draw her blade for him.</p>
<p>“You know Lord Baratheon has never taken a wife?” Arianne said, having regained her composure, casually sipping on her second glass of Dornish red, noting the look of relief that momentarily flashed through Arya’s eyes. “Not that we haven’t tried of course. A Lord Paramount, handsome as a maiden’s dream, a war hero. A just, good lord who isn’t cruel or blinded by vanity. They say the road to Storm’s End is covered in broken hearts. We too traveled to Storm’s End in hopes that a betrothal would wash away centuries of bad blood between Dorne and the Stormlands.</p>
<p>“It was difficult to pick a suitable lady for Lord Baratheon to wed. No one has ever seen him with a woman, so we did not know what kind he preferred. And to be quite frank, whomever I chose would be condemned to a lifetime of constant rainfall. For the Dornish, there is no greater pain that a sun forever blotted out by the storm. But finally, we were ready. I rode to Storm’s End with Lord Edric Dayne and his cousin, Ashara Sand.”</p>
<p>Arya’s eyebrow quirked up in surprise, “Yes, Lady Ashara Dayne’s bastard daughter,” Arianna continued. “It was a gamble to offer him a bastard, I will admit. But here in Dorne, we do not scorn bastards the way you do. Lady Ashara was raised alongside Lord Dayne as his sister and had he perished in the Great War she would have been the next Lady of Starfall.</p>
<p>Arianne took another sip of her wine with a dreamy look in her dark eyes, “And her beauty is insurmountable. It is unknown who her father is but as you very well know, her mother, Ashara Dayne, was a famous beauty who is said to have enchanted even your righteous father. Ashara Sand is even more beautiful. Tall and fair, long dark hair, purple eyes so haunting that they stare into your soul long after she’s gone. No man has ever denied Lady Ashara before and we did not expect this time to be any different.”</p>
<p>Arya looked uncomfortable as Arianne described Ashara Sand’s striking beauty, but Arianne continued, “However, your lord is a curious one, Lady Stark. The words of House Baratheon are ‘Ours is the fury’ but the new Lord Baratheon is not known to have a temper like his father. He was as I expected, polite, courteous. He welcomed us with all the honors required but as soon as his eyes fell upon Lord Dayne’s face, I saw a silent fury that cut deep into my bones. It was very clear to me in that moment that Lord Baratheon would not be taking any wife from House Dayne.</p>
<p>“But even so, we had made the long journey and I have a weakness for handsome men.” Arya gripped her dagger a little tighter at that and Arianna let out a small laugh before she continued, “Rest assured Lady Arya, your Lord Baratheon did not have any interest in taking me back to his chambers. I am not used to being rejected so absolutely.</p>
<p>“I had, like many others, long suspected that Lord Baratheon was like his uncle, Lord Renly, which is why he had yet to take a wife. For a while I consoled myself, convinced myself that was why. But I have made advances on Lord Renly himself in the past and I am sad to say that his nephew did not resist me in the same manner. It is clear that Lord Baratheon is interested in woman. Just not this one,” Arianne said, gesturing to herself with a flourish.</p>
<p>“Unfortunately,” she continued, dramatically putting her hand over her eyes in mock distress, “Ashara Sand did not take rejection so well. Twice denied, first to be his wife and then again to be his paramour. No man had never said no to the stunning Ashara Sand before and here was a dashing young lord refusing her every advance. She went mad, stalking the halls of Storm’s End, jumping him at every opportunity, half in love with his handsome face and broad shoulders, unable to accept the fact that he would not allow her to bring him back into her bed. Lord Dayne nearly had to drag her back to Starfall in chains.”</p>
<p>Finally, Arianne sat up straight, serious once again, “And so, Lady Stark, that is how your handsome lord ended up with a Dornish dagger in his belly. A lowly assassin sent by Ashara Sand. Out of vengeance or despair I do not know, and I never will. Before the assassin even reached Storm’s End, Ashara Sand had already leapt out of the same Starfall tower as her mother, joining her in the sea.”</p>
<p>Having finished her story, Arianne waited for Arya to reply. When she didn’t, Arianne casually leaned back into the cushions, “Ashara Sand’s demise is well-known throughout the Seven Kingdoms, though the reason behind it is known only to Lord Dayne and myself. However, with your brother’s gift and your sister’s insights, I daresay you would have been able to figure it out yourself and spared a fight with me. But of course, you did not know any of this because you have been gone so long.”</p>
<p>“Are you trying to buy back your life by giving me advice?” Arya asked.</p>
<p>“I would never dare try to advise the Bringer of the Dawn,” Arianne dramatically replied in mock offense. “I am merely saying, my beloved Uncle Oberyn was like you. He traveled far and wide but as he ventured farther and for longer, the fabric that tied him to us began to fray. In the end he could not avenge his sister, could not protect his brother. His paramour, his daughters, all dead to the lions he left them to.”</p>
<p>The Valyrian dagger was suddenly stuck in the table, a hairsbreadth away from where Arianne’s hand rested. Arianne did not flinch. “Are you threatening me, Princess Arianne?”</p>
<p>Arianne looked up at Arya, “I am sorry for what has happened to your Lord Baratheon. But if it had not been Ashara Sand’s poisoned dagger it would have been something else. A sellsword from Highgarden. A crossbow bolt from Casterly Rock. If not your lover then your brother, Bran the Broken, or your sister, Queen in the North. Tell me, Lady Stark, did you return to Westeros because you heard your lover was dying? Or were you merely fortunate enough that the waves carried you home in time to save him? Because next time, perhaps you will be like my uncle and find that it’s too late to save those you left behind.”</p>
<p>In a flash the Valyrian dagger was gone, leaving a deep groove in the finely polished wood of the table. “Weren’t you going to kill me?” Arianne jokingly called after Arya’s retreating form.</p>
<p>Arya stopped and looked back with a small smile, “I always knew I would like the Dornish.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The show went bad the moment they decided not to have Arianne. Also sorry for having no Gendry in this chapter :(<br/>Hopefully he's still alive by the next chapter who knows </p>
<p>Once again thank you so much for reading :)<br/>Please let me know what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rumors continued to flow freely through the Seven Kingdoms regarding the dying Lord of Storm’s End. Some said he had died already and the Baratheon bannermen were fighting amongst themselves. Others said he had recovered but was no longer in control of his faculties, a dumb and mute lord. A living puppet being manipulated by his advisors.</p>
<p>Reality was much less dramatic. The Lord of Storm’s End had fallen silent a fortnight ago, no longer possessing the strength to even whisper Arya Stark’s name. Instead, his face just twisted silently as he slept, still haunted by some unknown nightmare. There was no news from Storm’s End and the people began to tire from weaving tales about the sullen bastard lord who stubbornly refused to die. Instead, they talked about the shadow moving across Westeros.</p>
<p>A hooded traveler, a woman, some claimed. First, she was in Oldtown, slicing the bottom off of tankards. Then, at Sunspear, pressing the sharp blade of a hidden dagger into the throats of highborns and servants alike in the Old Palace, demanding to know where Princess Arianne was. Who was she? A visitor from the Free Cities? Some remnant of the Dragon Queen’s foreign army?</p>
<p>Some silly maidens sighed that it was Arya Stark, returned to save and avenge her love, Lord Gendry Baratheon. Those who heard the maidens’ swoons would laugh and scold the silly girls that life was not a song. Arya Stark had better things to do than save the worthless life of a lord she had probably never even met.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Gendry knew where he was before he even opened his eyes. He could recognize that stench anywhere; pigsties and stables, tanner’s sheds, the stink of winesinks and cheap whorehouses. Flea Bottom. He was home.</p>
<p>However, there was one familiar smell missing. That of fire and sweat and soot. Gendry opened his eyes. This wasn’t the Street of Steel where he grew up. Instead of the sing of hammers hitting anvils, there is the clatter of silverware against bowls o’ brown. Gendry was in a place he barely remembered; the tavern where his mother worked.</p>
<p>A head of yellow hair moved before him, her face turned away. Gendry didn’t remember his mother’s face. He only remembered that she was a serving wench. She was kind. She had yellow hair. And that she died before he could remember anything more. Perhaps he had died, and he would finally be able to meet her again.</p>
<p>“Mother!” he called to her. She was about to turn her face towards him before someone pulled her away.</p>
<p>Gendry looked up at the man who had pulled her away and he nearly fell over in shock. It was as if he was looking into a mirror. “Aren’t you going to greet your own father, you bastard?” asked Robert Baratheon.</p>
<p>Despite holding his father’s title, ruling his father’s lands, even sleeping in his father’s bed, Gendry had never met the man himself, only glimpsed him briefly a few times as he rode past. The man that stood before him looked nothing like the fat king who could barely stay atop his horse, but the dark hair and blue eyes were undeniably identical to Gendry’s.</p>
<p>“I don’t have a father,” Gendry finally managed to mumble, “Bastards don’t have fathers.”</p>
<p>Robert Baratheon laughed heartily, “You had enough of a father to become Lord of Storm’s End didn’t you, boy? To think, a rat from Flea Bottom sitting in my father’s seat. If he were alive, he would have died again just thinking about it.”</p>
<p>By now, Gendry had regained his composure enough to stand up, squaring his shoulders. “Why are you here? I don’t want your shit face to be the last one I see before I die.”</p>
<p>Robert Baratheon guffawed, “It’s your face too, isn’t it? And whose do you want to see? Arya Stark’s?”</p>
<p>Gendry remained silent.</p>
<p>“Oh, you really think you’ll see her again, boy? After she climbed onto that boat and sailed as far away from you as possible?”</p>
<p>“I built that boat for her.”</p>
<p>“You’re a fool.”</p>
<p>“I believed she would come back to me,” Gendry said, with a faraway look in his eyes, as if he himself also could not believe he had been so foolish.</p>
<p>“You can’t let your woman roam. She’ll wander away from you and never find her way back.”</p>
<p>“She wouldn’t love me if I didn’t let her go free,” Gendry replied sharply. Robert Baratheon looked stunned and a little jealous, glaring down at Gendry as if commanding him to take back such a preposterous statement. But Gendry wasn’t backing down, unwavering as he glared back at his father.</p>
<p>Finally, Robert Baratheon chuckled darkly. “What makes you think she would love a bastard like you.”</p>
<p>“The same reason why Lyanna Stark didn’t love a lord like you,” Gendry said steadily, ducking as Robert Baratheon’s fist came flying towards him before continuing, “She didn’t love you. You named a warship <em>Lady Lyanna </em>after her. What does a dead woman need a ship for? Yes, I built Arya Stark a ship. Let her board it. Watched as she left these shores. I gave her the world. I let her carve my heart out and sail away with it with no promise of its return. You claim to love Lyanna Stark, but you couldn’t give her even a scrap of your own heart.”</p>
<p>As Gendry spoke, he and Robert Baratheon fought through the tavern. Bowls flying, patrons screaming and scrambling for cover. Gendry was a fighter, but he had not been fostered by a high lord like his father had. Finally, Robert Baratheon landed a punch that sent Gendry flying into the bar, glass shattering and soaking Gendry with wine.</p>
<p>“If she loves you why isn’t she here?” Robert Baratheon roared, blue eyes icy with rage, “Where has she been all these years. I’ll tell you where. She’s just like her aunt. She would rather die in some godforsaken foreign place than live a life with you.”</p>
<p>Gendry tried to rise, but he was surrounded by broken glass that cut into his palms as he tried to prop himself up.</p>
<p>“You’re just like me,” Robert Baratheon continued, pointing at the stab wound on Gendry’s abdomen. “You’re even dying like me.”</p>
<p>“He’s not like you,” said a woman’s voice from behind Robert Baratheon. It was cold like the winds of winter, northern accent so heavy it almost sounded like wolves howling.</p>
<p>“Lyanna,” Robert Baratheon breathed, turning around and grabbing desperately at nothing for she had already gone.</p>
<p>Stormy grey eyes set in a slim face appeared before Gendry. He tried to rub the wine out of his eyes to see her better, but he felt gentle fingers pull his hands away.</p>
<p>“You’re not like him,” the woman whispered softly. Gendry felt cold lips brush his temple. “You are not Robert Baratheon. I am not Lyanna Stark.”</p>
<p>Arya.</p>
<p>Gendry opened his eyes. He had lived to see her again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I didn't abandon this fic?? Incredible.<br/>Sorry for the 2 week delay. Haikyuu ended and I was writing Iwaoi </p>
<p>Thank you thank you thank you for your continued support. I am very sorry for being such a fic flake.<br/>I hope you enjoyed this chapter and as always, please let me know what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Even though it was raining outside, what little sunlight that managed to reach Gendry’s eyes was enough to make him cry out in pain if he had the strength. Cold fingers cradled his cheek as Arya’s Stark face came into focus. It was thinner, tanner, and more beautiful than he remembered.</p>
<p>Arya Stark.</p>
<p>Gendry tried to lift his arm. He couldn’t. How long had he been lying there? Dreaming of searching all Seven Kingdoms for his lost love. Slowly, Gendry realized he couldn’t move any part of himself, his wasted body too heavy to lift itself up. He began to panic. Arya was right in front of him, but he no longer had the strength to hold onto her. This was how he would lose her again.</p>
<p>As if reading his mind, Arya laced her fingers through his. “I’m not going anywhere, stupid.”</p><hr/>
<p>For once, the maidens were right. Arya Stark had landed in the Seven Kingdoms only to find her lover dying. And she had torn through Westeros to save him. Arya Stark turned her lover’s deathbed into their marriage bed.</p>
<p>Though the lady next to Lord Baratheon was as cold as the northern frost, she never again left his side. The sullen bastard lord was no more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm sorry I just had to throw together this ending because I promised myself I would finish this before I concluded my Haikyuu fic that's the size of a book</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading :)</p><p>Please let me know what you think!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>